


To Shreds

by mooseling



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension, post-war AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooseling/pseuds/mooseling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arcee wasn't blind to the obsession Megatron had for Optimus, but she never expected their third born to inherit the same infatuation. Only this time, it's for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Shreds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeling/gifts).



> Based on a post-war AU where the war between the Autobots and Decepticons is over. Optimus and Megatron, now bondmates, guard Cybertron as Prime and Protector. Merope is their third born. She is a femme with an uncanny resemblance to Megatron. Merope is an OC created by primeling, but used with permission.

“What an unexpected treat,” a voice purred from the darkness, “You and me… _alone._ ”

A curse was passing down the bloodline, one which Arcee had become the brunt of. Black pedes no longer padded against the metal floors of hollow corridors. Chrome digits clenched as a self-defense mechanism, an instinct to save herself from a force which already ensnared her very spark. Already she had tried to escape, but there was no running from the thoughts that consumed her—no running from a presence which turned her into an obsession.

Beady crimson shifted in the shadows, a predator’s hungry gaze sweeping over sapphire prey.

Bright azure optics scoured the seemingly infinite blackness, wary of the haunting silhouette which watched her greedily. Her huntress did not pace, she circled, waiting.

“You’re trapped, femme.”

“Get out of my way,” she snarled, voice low.

“I’m not in _your_ way, you are in mine,” claws rasped together from the darkness, “Right where I want you to be.”

EM field bristled against her own and Arcee struggled not to shudder lest her huntress see. Mechanisms swiveled in her optics as she kept focus on the slow saunter, the predator waiting for her prey to weaken. The two-wheeler would not so easily be brought to her knees.

“You should not be so afraid, Arcee.”

“Afraid?” Arcee spat the word back toward the silhouette, “I am not afraid of you.”

“Then show me,” and with a talon and a malicious grin, she beckoned the two-wheeler to come forth, “Come here and have the ball-bearings to say to me what you said to my Carrier.”

Arcee winced at the brusqueness of the femme’s voice, normally the sing-song of a siren’s call, now only a few pitches higher than Megatron’s malevolent rasp. Pedes remained where they were—never had Arcee been one to get close to anyone. A life in motion, a comfortable distance from the one who put a vice around her spark, it was what the two-wheeler wished to maintain.

But she knew the third born of Megatron and the Prime would not want to be kept waiting.

“Tell me, femme!” the commanding voice vibrated against her frame into her spark. But then the voice quieted, demanding lowly, “Step forward and tell me I am too young.”

Arcee flinched and stepped back as she watched the near spitting image of Megatron step forward instead, protruding from her cloak of darkness.

“Step forward and tell me you think I will kill you. And do not be mistaken, I _want_ to.”

The vice around her spark, it squeezed, creating an agony Arcee wished to rid herself of, an agony which she had never known until the heir made known her volatile obsession.

Against the ground, black pedes clamored before the two-wheeler sprang forth, lunging at her huntress. Blue slammed against silver with relentless force, knocking the larger femme to the ground. Metal screeched against metal as silver streaked with blue. Cries of pain and snarls of frustration echoed from the corridor as each struggled for purchase, for control of the other. And, finally, it was Arcee who rose from the floor to throw the larger femme down, pinning her upon her back.

Azure blazed into crimson as the two-wheeler leaned dangerously close to the femme who glared at her with the same murderous intent Megatron held. “You are _too young_ ,” she scolded, venomous anger lacing her words, “And if you want to kill me, then _tear me to shreds._ ”

“I don’t need to; you’re already inpieces. You’ve always _been_ in pieces.”

Above her helm, Arcee raised her fist with every intent to deliver the fatal blow to her obsession. But fist shook as she was unable to follow through, the force within her spark preventing her.

For so long, she struggled to keep herself together, but slowly she was falling apart…

And the femme beneath her, oh, she knew.

Arcee could not cry out, could not react as she was thrown against the floor, scratches burning across her armor as she skidded across the abrasive floor. Heavy pedesteps sauntered over to her before she was lifted by a clawed servo and slammed brutally against the wall, only to be pinned by the larger femme’s oppressive weight.

“You _think_ you are forbidden from me, exempt because you have a broken spark, because you are afraid to let anyone else get too close,” she taunted, sharp, clawed digits tracing invisible patterns upon her sides, “You will know _nothing_ is forbidden from me, Arcee, not even you. _Especially_ not you.”

Unsure she would survive, Arcee tried to twist away, but metal caught against metal. She was pinned, the predator having caught her prey.

“You have never said no, you only deliver me excuses. _I_ am too young, _I_ will kill you, but no, that is not the case. After I am finished with you, you will know what it means to be alive, Arcee. You will know that the problem is not with me, but with _you_.”

“I do not want you, Merope.”

“I am everything you have ever wanted.”

Bright cerulean narrowed to slits as a strangled growl resonated from her vocoder. “Merope,” she gnarred, “You have no idea what I have been through. You will never understand. We will _never_ work.”

“Normal function between us is impaired by your stubbornness, by your fear of getting hurt.”

“I am not afraid—"

“You _are_! And you’re too blind to see it.”

“You don’t understand,” she spoke lowly, hating her own weakness, hating how Merope knew, “You do not know how it feels to lose—"

“To lose a piece of my soul?” Merope asked, finishing the two-wheeler’s sentence.

Arcee’s engine stalled partially, a ventilation hitching in her intake as Merope traced a talon along her jawline, crimson bathing over well-polished chrome facial plating before shifting to blaze into cerulean. Softer the siren-like heir spoke, “I’ve heard to lose someone you love is similar to suffering an amputation, but not just any amputation, an amputation of the soul. Is that how it feels, Arcee? A part of you stolen away by Tailgate, another by Cliffjumper, and still another yet by Jack? Unfortunate that humans do not live forever.”

“Do not mock me—you have _never_ lost anyone.”

“I am holding onto what wants to lose me. And you are lucky; none of your partners left you because they _wanted_ to. I would rather you die, I would rather you be murdered, than to see you leave me _once_ of your own volition.”

Centuries of war had taught Arcee that, when falling, it was one’s first instinct to grab on, not to let go. Into a bottomless void she had spiraled, but there was Merope reaching through the darkness, someone to break her fall, to grab onto. Shattering loss had hardened her spark, frightened her soul, but for Merope, the flaming nova in her chassis lurched.

“But Arcee,” she continued, “You are a warrior, you do not lay down and die. You want to save yourself, you don’t want to have to rely on anyone else to save you. That I understand, that I commend. But I…”

A slight gasp fell from Arcee’s lip plates as Merope pressed her face into her neck. Static bristled over her armor as she tried to ignore the sensation of warm ventilations cycling against cabling—as she tried to ignore how desperately she wanted more.

“I want to control the chaos when you cannot. I want to be your strength when you feel utterly weak. And I want you to do the same for me.”

Too much sensation, all of which was overwhelming. Arcee struggled, writhed, _squirmed_ , trying once more to escape. But the vice tightened around her spark, body forced to obey. Here in Merope’s grasp, her soul wished to stay.

Against her audio, Merope chuckled, “You are not angry. Do not listen to the lies your mind tells you. Confess, Arcee, what your spark wants.”

Still she struggled, “Nngh, no, there is no point—"

“There is _every_ point.”

“It does not matter.”

“Oh, but it does.”

Ventilations stifled once more and a loud rev of her engine betrayed her. Brash, hot ventilations cycled down her neck as Merope whispered, “Confess.”

“I…”

Another gasp was forced from her throat as the silver femme dipped her talons between black thighs, caressing the skid plating there. Wanton desire heated her lines, threatening to turn her into a near puppet beneath Merope’s ministrations. And while she was afraid to hold on, to give in, to let the larger femme take control, she could not let go.

“Merope,” she growled.

From her neck, the helm lifted, and where comforting warmth had been, unnerving numbness settled in. Once more crimson met her gaze as the silver heir asked with a flare of amusement in her optics, “Yes, Arcee?”

“Curse you…”

Confession was not provided in words, and with hungry ferocity, Arcee closed the distance between them. Lip plating collided together in a flurry of sparks, elegant chrome scraping against well-polished silver as a raucous and shrill rev of excitement roared from Merope’s engines. Processors screamed as though they had been singed by fire; in the back of her mind, Arcee knew this was exactly what Merope wanted—what _she_ wanted for herself.

The heir of Megatron and Optimus, the silver femme would worship her.

Black thighs were forced open and deadly claws guided her legs around the sterling waist, draping them there. Arcee gasped as the femme suddenly slammed her pelvis against hers, grinding their heated panels together. “Tell me no,” Merope vented against her audio, “Do not give me an excuse this time. _Tell me no._ Let me hear you say you do not want me, Arcee. Or…”

“Merope,” she growled, squirming as heated panels collided once more, the force of the collision vibrating along her frame. Azure glared at the force that held her, spark clenching, knowing that the femme knew that no part of her _didn’t_ want this.

“Or, let me claim you,” Merope whispered, her voice barely a few pitches higher than that of her Sire, Megatron.

“You should know that I won’t just _let_ you claim me,” Arcee remarked, but felt well-polished lip plating smile against her facial derma.

“Oh, Arcee…let me in or I’ll trigger your panels open.”

Frame trembled as sharp talons prodded along her hip joint, tempting transformation seams, plucking at wires hidden behind the joint. The two-wheeler listened as the femme chuckled, blazing gaze dipping down to behold Arcee’s paneling. Slowly, she traced a single digit across the heated metal, crimson glancing back up to study the motorcycle’s reaction.

Arcee should have known the daughter of Megatron would be experienced in the realm of interface. With a frown of defiance, she allowed her panels to fold back, opening them before Merope could. Ozone stung her olfactory sensors—but the sterling femme would not have her claim so easily, and the femme had already given her the advantage.

Already draped around the heir’s waist, Arcee tightened her legs and yanked the femme in, letting pristine armor meet the slickened folds of her valve. A hiss fell from Merope’s throat as Arcee grinded against her, staining the well-polished silver with her lubricants.

“Tear you to shreds, that is how you worded it, wasn’t it?”

She had known Merope would seize the opportunity.

The two-wheeler gave a small gasp as sharp claws sank into her pelvis, holding her still. Ozone bit her olfactory sensors once more as the sound of panels retracting caught her audios.

Merope, she would have her claim.

A strangled cry fell from Arcee’s vocoder as she was wrenched by Merope, the heir forcing sparks to fly from the collision of their frames. Onto the larger femme’s spike her valve was slammed; denta simultaneously sank into her neck cabling as barbs flared from the spike, preventing Arcee from pulling away. Like a vice, the silver femme held her, forcing her claim.

Lubricants pricked at the corners of the azure femme’s optics as she was stretched much further than she anticipated. It was a pain she had craved, as Merope lavished kisses against her neck, the vice around her spark loosened.

Electric-hot charge sizzled from spike to valve, bouncing from node to node, the two femmes tethered together.

“Mer…Merope,” she groaned.

“Control,” the femme growled, the word laced with possession.

“I’m not…fragile,” Arcee snarled, “ _Move._ ”

Between her thighs, Merope moved, all-too-willing to oblige. Barbs sheathed within the spike, and the silver femme withdrew only to let the barbs flare once more. Forcefully, she pressed herself back within the valve, letting hungry calipers pull her appendage inside. Each time they constricted as Merope pulled away.

Lithe digits clawed against thick armor, struggling for some sort of purchase as the younger femme thrust repeatedly into her. Sensor-net stung as nodes were nearly overloaded from overstimulation, but still the friction she craved.

Her spark craved.

“Arcee…you are _mine_.”

_As she entered, the Prime turned from his work, and Arcce crossed her arms as bright cerulean burned into azure. Immediately, he was aware of her displeasure and broached the situation carefully. “Greetings, Arcee,” he spoke, his baritone voice friendly and familiar, “Do you require assistance?”_

_“Merope,” she stated bluntly and watched as concern flickered through his features at the mentioning of his child, “She wants to take me to berth and frag me.”_

_The larger Autobot shifted slightly, and Arcee was aware she had made him uncomfortable. “I am aware of Merope’s intentions,” he spoke, “However, my children know that I will not interfere with their desires for others. If her affections are not reciprocated, then it is your right to tell her so.”_

_“She is Megatron’s child, too. You expect me to say no and live to tell about it?”_

_“She knows better than to harm you. Arcee…”_

_She looked to him._

_“You do not need to fear her or anyone else who may harbor affections for you. You distance yourself from others,” he paused a moment before continuing, “It is not a weakness to be in the presence of things that are sometimes far away…”_

_But from the work station she had stormed, ghosts of the past coiling around her frame. And as she walked away, she had not expected to be confronted._

_“All hail the queen who exits from my Carrier’s work station on her chariot of pent up anger,” a sing-song voice a few pitches higher than Megatron’s purred._

_“Merope,” she exclaimed, whirling around._

_But the femme was blunt with her, “I see your spewing excuses to my Carrier now, too. I know I drive you crazy, Arcee. But you are too much of a coward to admit it.”_

_“I am not a coward, Merope, and I don’t have time for this.”_

_By the arm she was seized as she was forced to look up to the younger femme, “There is an inexplicable force between us, femme, and you need to stop being so afraid of it.”_

Leg struts trembled as her HUD flashed, warning her of an impending overload. Warnings went ignored as Arcee allowed Merope to finish her.

“Arcee,” the femme growled above her.

This time, a smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. In her chaotic life, it felt good to let someone else to take control.

_“It is not a weakness to be in the presence of things that are sometimes far away…”_

_“There is an inexplicable force between us, femme, and you need to stop being so afraid of it.”_

_Love._

Arcee’s spinal strut arched as overload seized her frame, Merope’s designation falling from her lips. From her frame, ecstasy rippled, strangled noises snarling from her throat as she pulled the silver femme into her overload.

Deep within her, Merope spilled her essence, attempting to bury it within her soul.

Remnants of static and overload twitched from their frames, but Merope did not pull away. “Remain exclusive to me, Arcee. I want no one else,” the femme spoke, warm ventilations cycling against her audio.

But the two-wheeler looked away.

Disappointment rumbled from the heir as she pulled away, allowing Arcee to conceal herself as she did the same. “A shame no one came by, they would have known of our coupling,” Merope mused, looking to Arcee, “But soon enough they will know anyway. You have injuries, so do I, and Knock Out is not wholly unintelligent. And, we are sporting one another’s paint.”

“Merope,” she said, “I am not a coward.”

“But you are still afraid.”

Arcee watched as the femme smiled, crimson bathing over her frame. Once more she leaned in, pressing their lip plating together, this time gently. “I will keep tearing away, femme,” she spoke softly, “Until I reach your soul.”

Within her chassis, her spark clenched; Arcee did not want to say goodbye.


End file.
